


Playing Away

by Britpacker



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Away missions.  They’re not always glamorous, but with the right company they can certainly be fun.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Unbeta'd, still not mine, and shockingly out of sequence for the series. I'll get the first date fic written eventually!

Commander Charles Tucker the Third whacked irritably at the thick, waxy vegetation that blocked his path through a patch of gloomy forest. "How come we get all the good jobs?" he whined.

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed squeezed past his superior office without glancing up from the scanner cupped in his hands. "On this occasion it's probably because there are deuterium signatures on a planetoid the locals say is stripped bare and the suggestion of orbital bombardment in the crater pattern, Sir," he said, adding just enough emphasis to imply exasperation without a charge of insubordination. "Captain Archer probably felt the best people to investigate would be, oh, I don't know - say an engineer and an armoury officer?"

"Smart, Malcolm." The unforgiving foliage slapped back off the younger man and into his chest but, captivated by the mischief in his boyfriend's eyes, Tucker found he didn't care. "What's with the Aptar, anyway? They must know we've got scanners."

"Perhaps they don't think we have curiosity." The inhabitants of the star system seemed totally lacking in the quality, a deficiency more than compensated by Captain Busybody's fascination with every chunk of measly rock he flew his starship past. "Bloody hell, look at _that!_ "

The simple absence of formality prepared Trip for something different and when he eased through the scrub to stand alongside his colleague on the edge of a deep crater half-filled with bubbling liquid deuterium he certainly saw that. "Bare rock, my ass," he breathed, whipping out his sample case to delicately collect a few drops of the precious fluid. "I'm readin' a background level of impurities - organics most likely, but sonofabitch! This stuff's an engineer's wet dream!"

"Really? How very disappointing."

The phial slipped between shock-slack fingers, shattering on the rocky ground. "Now look what you've made me do!" Trip howled, feeling the blood surge up from beneath the tight collar of his hot-weather uniform. Malcolm shrugged.

"Open goal, Commander," he drawled, deftly collecting a replacement sample while Tucker gawped, his mouth drying out despite the humidity at the sight of the Englishman's perfect ass, shown in relief against the otherworldly glow coming up from the crater's base. "If that's your idea of excitement..."

"Oh, I got plenty better ideas, Lieutenant." Flirty. On a mission. _Just when I think I'm getting a handle on this guy, he surprises me all over again._ "But there's a time and a place, right?"

"I do hope so." With a guileless smile Reed presented his test tube to the other man, just stopping short of an ocular strip-search in the process. From the corner of his eye he registered a change in the data scrolling across his scanner. "Er - how far from the shuttle have we come, would you say?"

"'bout five kilometres." The brunet was nibbling his bottom lip, leaving tiny marks in the succulent flesh and firing small arrows of heat into Tucker's groin. He knew how that mouth tasted; how those firm-looking, supple lips felt pressed up to his own. He wanted to feel them again. Now.

"Bollocks." Oh yes; he wanted to feel those, too. "You know those sudden and extreme climatic events T'Pol warned us about?"

"Yeah." Consumed by thoughts of what might be hidden inside the other man's form-fitting beige pants Trip replied without hearing. Malcolm growled.

"I think there's one on the way. Bugger! The canopy's quite heavily broken up - won't be much shelter."

"Rain?" That was a word Trip recognised and disliked. "Shit!"

The exasperated click of his companion's tongue still resounded above the ominous wail of a distant wind. " _If_ I might make a suggestion," Reed sneered, as if he wasn't to blame for Tucker being distracted in the first place. "Run!"

"Yessir." Well, Trip considered, one of them had never been all that hung up on command structures. As the first drops of tepid spray struck his face he turned away from the bubbling pool and obeyed.

Thick greenery slapped against the two men as they sprinted, sharp curses erupting when first one then the other stumbled on the uneven ground. Already dark, the sky visible through gaping gulfs in the forest canopy had taken a leaden look, with banks of stormcloud that roared across the gaps at warp speed. "I'm picking up something two-fifty metres east," Reed panted, still somehow managing to stay glued to his scanner while negotiating the treacherous ground. "Could be a structure."

"Thought this place was - fuck! - uninhabited." Swinging onto a new course turned his ankle and Trip staggered, his fall broken by the solid strength of his companion's shoulder. "Thanks."

Malcolm answered with a grunt, all his breath saved for running straight into the teeth of the screaming gale, sheets of rain sluicing into his face and drenching through his lightweight clothing. More by instinct that observation he identified the woodland thinning out around him, the downpour striking his crown like a power shower even before he broke the last barrier of vegetation and exposed himself for the first time to the full ferocity of the storm.

"Jee-sus!" The weight of water against his chest rocked Trip physically backward, streams streaking his face like warm, salt-free tears. Glowing against the gloomy backdrop, a two-storey wooden structure dominated the centre of the barren clearing, its door standing open and rich amber light promising a warm welcome within. "Biosigns?"

Just forming the word filled his mouth with water and he spat it angrily away, aware of its sharp, metallic tang on his tongue. "None," Reed reported, his head down and rivulets pouring around the shell of his ear. He gave himself a shake, droplets spraying from his soaked dark hair. "But all the same..."

The scanner, Tucker realised, had been replaced by a phase pistol. Ever a stickler for form Malcolm would have it set to stun, but even so... hadn't the Aptar been adamant, nobody had come to this lousy chunk of space-junk in a hundred years?

Nobody got old trusting an alien. Grandpa Johnson's grim prophecy came back, tinged with all the old man's baleful prejudice. Mal wouldn't say it, but their newest acquaintances weren't exactly disproving the theory so far. Fingering the setting of his own weapon Trip raised it and scuttled into the lee of the building in his colleague's lithe wake.

"Deuterium moat," Malcolm observed, skidding to a halt just shy of a narrow channel bubbling with pungent liquid. Trip snorted.

"Not much of a defence," he remarked, proving the point with a quick hop into the open doorway. "C'mon in; ain't nobody here but us chickens."

"There's something odd about this." The Englishman seemed to have forgotten his bedraggled state, absorbed by the readings that scrolled across his scanner's screen. "Look at the carbon content! It's twenty times what you'd expect - almost as if..."

"Dammit Malcolm, will you get out of the goddamn rain!"

"There's no need to shout." Petulantly shaking his sopping head and accidentally-on-purpose giving his immediate superior another small shower Reed stepped over the channel into the doorway, his eyes growing wide at the furnace-blast of heat that struck him. "And this place hasn't been used in - how long did they say, again?"

It took a few moments, luxuriating in the warmth spreading through him, to notice the absence of a smart reply. "Commander?" he tried, lifting his head to frown at the bigger man.

Tucker's throat worked. His mouth hung open. And his eyes, Malcolm noticed, were all but coming out on stalks.

"Oh," he said faintly.

Soaked through, the thin beige fabric of the Southerner's lightweight rain-resistant uniform became almost transparent, clinging to every contour of his sculpted physique. Suddenly Malcolm felt as if he hadn't had a drink all week.

That his own attire might be in a similar state took longer than it should to permeate a lust-bemused brain but when it hit the thought was accompanied by an internal warming that made the cottage's heat source insignificant. Trip Tucker was ogling him. 

Throughout their dates Trip had been, true to his own protestations, the perfect gentleman: there had been a little hand-holding in the snack bowl at movie night; even a few kisses, shy at first but heating up to bone-melt mode at the first hint of a response. But if he had hopes of being swept right off his feet and into bed, Malcolm had been guiltily disappointed.

It wasn't, he assured himself as time slowed to a crawl and the thrum of his own heart began to echo in his ears, that he doubted the blond's whispered compliments in the darkened mess hall when everyone was supposed to be focussed on the temporary screen. Trip was a tactile companion - forever brushing up when they queued at Chef's counter or touching Malcolm's face when they met in the privacy of quarters - and his kisses, when he could be coaxed into offering them, spoke of real sensual yearning. But - perhaps, Reed acknowledged, in deference to his own innate reticence - the desire he claimed had never been openly displayed on that mobile, expressive face.

Until now.

Now the lust was naked. Raw. And wholeheartedly reciprocated.

Hi balls felt tender. Liquid heat was unrolling through his belly and he was suddenly, painfully aware of just how close the expensively-engineered material clung to every rapidly-expanding inch of his frame. "Malcolm," Tucker breathed, his hand coming up to gently cup the side of the Englishman's face. His thumb rubbed the prominent ridge of cheekbone. 

Reed was sure he could feel warmth moving from the contact point all the way down into his underwear. Which, he decided, had shrunk in the rain, because it certainly hadn't felt this tight ten minutes ago.

Held captive by the other man's stare he felt himself begin to stretch, rising onto his toes to meet the kiss he could taste against his mouth long before Trip's claimed it. A small whimper escaped him at the pressure of a lean, hard length against his front. Lightning flashed in his head, a bolt of pure electrical energy that knocked out all his formidable cognitive capability.

He thrust hard, hands scrabbling, pulling for purchase in wet cloth and sodden hair. Dimly he was aware of the sharp _snap_ of poppers releasing; could feel the leather-and-velvet heat of work-worn fingertips probing inside his shirt. It was good, but not good enough. He wanted more.

"Aaahhh, Malcolm!" Trip sounded slurred and until his fingers curled fully around the hot length of flesh they'd been exposing on their own initiative Reed couldn't quite figure why. The Southerner's erection pulsed. His own responded. He needed to be naked. The only thing he needed more was to have Trip naked too. 

Even in his fuddled state he was conscious of motion; of the strange sucking sound of soaked material releasing the flesh beneath and the glorious brush of crisp, thick chest hair against the flat of his hands. His mouth was burning, lips bruising; he was being devoured and it was bloody wonderful. Wet fabric slapped against his shoulders and he rolled them thoughtlessly, his shirt falling free. 

"C'mon darlin', upstairs," Trip rumbled, his mouth moving over Malcolm's face in long, sloppy circles that sent shivers to his toes. He shuffled where he was bidden, instinct taking charge. It didn't matter where they went as long as that thrillingly hard form stayed superglued to his.

"Yeesss!" he hissed, jolted from deep within at the deft delve of a hand inside his sticky briefs. Sent completely light-headed he clawed at the damp coverings that tried to keep him from his treasure, aware of a sharp stab of primal satisfaction at the torn-canvas sound of Tucker's boxers splitting at the seam in his hands. Like a cat he rubbed his torso against the other man's, forgetful of his shuffling feet and the breath of disturbed air against his skin. His hips bucked. Somebody moaned.

"Oh, yeah." His fly was flapping open and his engorged shaft bobbed against his stomach but Trip barely noticed, all his attention held by the dishevelled, semi-naked Brit tumbling backwards onto a gigantic white bed. Malcolm squirmed, sinking deep into a yielding mattress that surged up around his flanks like a downy basket. Undulating gently, one hand drifting to caress his own hardness, the brunet unleashed the sultriest most _come-and-get-me_ smile any Tucker had ever seen. 

Rendered rough with need he wrenched the unzipped pants down his lover's legs, pulling off mud-crusted boots in the same hasty movement. His own hit the deck a second later in tandem with his weight landing down alongside Reed in the depths of the sumptuous bed.

Impressions and sensations crowded in on him. Malcolm's world was a blur of groping hands, sucking mouths and sweet, sweet friction. Trip's weight pressed him down; the bedding rode up to cocoon their embrace. His balls pulsed, tight and hard. He was right at the heart of the universe, and it was exploding.

Wetness surged over his belly, Trip's bigger body juddering as his climax struck. The tight springs in his testes uncoiled. He was liquid, molten lava spilling through his bloodstream and out in thick, strong spurts to merge with his lover's release. The sensation was too strong, he couldn't bear it another second, but he never, never wanted it to stop.

When it did, Malcolm Reed was beyond rational understanding. All he could do was clutch the solid mass covering him, protecting him, until his head stopped spinning and his heart rate slowed to a gentle patter. "Mmmm," he mumbled, nuzzling into the sweaty crook of Tucker's neck. "Hmmm-mmm."

"Oh, yeah." He decided he ought to envy the man his eloquence, then concluded he honestly couldn't be arsed. The weight shifted slightly, Trip raising himself unsteadily onto his elbows to peer into his lover's half-closed eyes. "That was..."

"Mmm, it was." By the raspiness of the words Malcolm gathered he'd screeched like a steam engine rather recently. "No, don't move."

"I must be crushing you."

"I don't mind." By a mammoth effort of will he compelled his flaccid arms to tighten their grip around the blond's trunk and Trip surrendered, simply rolling both men onto their sides. A minor readjustment brought Malcolm up nose to nose on the pillow, facing a Trip Tucker busily devouring his own lower lip.

"I didn't mean for that to happen," the Southerner announced. "Not like that. I kinda thought it'd be more, you know, _romantic_ somehow."

"Worked for me." Lazily Reed forced his loosened muscles through a satisfying stretch that got even more satisfying than usual from friction. Like a damp sea mist alarm began to close around him, its coldness seeping into his pores. "You're not..."

"Arch... Comm...Tuck... Trip, Malcolm, respond!"

"Dammit!" Their comms were abandoned halfway to the bedroom door - roughly, Malcolm realised, where their pants had ended up after Trip's exuberant disrobing. Both men scrambled, the bedding tangled like a nest of angry snakes around their legs, until Tucker's fingers closed around the nearest device and he snapped it open with a breathless halloo.

"Are you alright, Trip?" Judging by the ragged edge to their C.O.'s voice he'd been trying to hail for some time. Atmospheric disturbance, Reed thought grimly. One didn't often appreciate how bloody useful it could be.

"We're good, Cap'n." The Yank was a better actor than Malcolm had given him credit for, achieving a normal tone despite their decidedly abnormal situation. "But when the Aptar tell you this place is abandoned, they're lyin'. Malcolm and I found a cottage to shelter in when the storm whipped up, and I'm tellin' you, it's not been lyin' here abandoned for a hundred years."

"Just this once I'm glad a new species hasn't been honest." Filled with relief, Archer's warm voice reverberated around the room and in spite of himself Malcolm snatched the first piece of clothing he could reach, as if his captain could sense an improper state of dress on duty. "We've been hailing for twenty minutes, and when we realised you hadn't made it back to the shuttle..."

"We're headin' there right now." Deliberately Trip averted his eyes from his companion while trying to dress with one hand, hopping like a hobbled stork with the comm. in one hand and his boxers flapping from the other. "No movement from the homeworld?"

"Not yet, but if you think there's a risk..."

Nobody needed to finish the thought. "We're on our way," Trip promised, slightly optimistically with his shirt still hanging off one shoulder and his pants around his kneecaps. "Umm, if you're ready, Mal?"

"Readier than you are, Commander."

The title came automatically, but the instant it dissolved on the humid air Reed longed to swallow it back. Trip's back straightened. His eyes narrowed to cobalt slits. "Let's go, Lieutenant."

"Aye, Sir." He'd brought it on himself but for the whole hike across hostile territory and a silent shuttle flight home Malcolm Reed was left to ruminate on just how much he hated bloody ranks.

*

He was still mentally kicking himself all round the quadrant two hours later when he came off-duty, heading straight for the solace of his quarters in preference to the cloying embrace of the mess hall's babble. He should have known Trip would react badly to a careless formality; should have been tender, supportive, aware they'd entered territory more alien than the Aptar marketplace they'd visited together yesterday for the Southerner.

Tucker wanted him; he hadn't doubted that from the moment he heard that shy _"You're gorgeous, you know that?"_ in his ear on their first official date. But he should have been careful, used his experience to steer a careful path toward intimacy. He certainly should have known better than to follow a first, frenzied tumble with a brisk, ever-so-dutiful _"Commander"_ whilst still starkers!

Seized by a fit of pique he wrenched the pips from his chest and hurled them against the wall, feeling childishly better despite embarrassment's guilty rush. For once, he couldn't wait to get out of uniform. 

He was pulling a rumpled t-shirt over his head when the doorchime sounded and instinctively he padded to answer, still tucking the hem into his jeans. "Trip!"

"Hi." Bashfully smiling, the man of his wildest fantasies filled the doorway, the tip of his tongue just visible between puckered lips. "Umm, is this a bad time?"

"No, not at all, please, come in." He was babbling like his mother when a naval acquaintance turned up after a five-year silence Reed realised, the image alone enough to pull him violently together. "D' you want a drink? I was about to open a box of cakes..."

"Phlox'd have my hide, but coffee and a cake sounds good, Mal." His own scrambled composure had a commensurate effect on the other man who turned confidently to the kettle while Reed fetched the promised treats. "Better than what's bein' served in the mess, anyway! Chef's havin' a bad day."

"I thought they were the norm with that grumpy old bugger." Relief made him light-headed. "Did you hear T'Pol's verdict on the samples we brought back?"

"Yeah." The blond's mobile features twisted. "Hell, if I'd thought we were bringin' bits of dead Aptar back with us I'd have thrown the fuckin' case out the airlock! You hear what Hoshi found in their cultural database?"

"I'm not sure I want to, but..." When his guest collapsed unbidden onto the edge of his bunk, long legs stretched out before him, Malcolm could have cried for joy. Trip was still comfortable. He'd come of his own accord for a social call. "I assume it's a ceremonial burial place or something."

"Definitely _or something_ , darlin'." Tucker didn't appear to have noticed the endearment. With warmth spreading through his belly, Malcolm wasn't about to challenge it. "Accordin' to Hoshi they dump the bodies of executed criminals in the deuterium pools to _corrode their immortal souls_. Now I don't know what that is, but I sure as hell wouldn't want it happenin' to mine."

"I don't suppose they know a great deal about it, being dead." Solemnly Malcolm presented a steaming mug and eased himself down at the engineer's side. "And now we've got the pleasantries out of the way, why don't we discuss what we're both really thinking about?"

"Subtle, Malcolm."

"I've found subtlety doesn't get me very far with you." Reed took a deep breath, looked his man dead in the eye, and took the plunge. "Love."

His reward was a beaming smile that filled his interior cabin with light. "You're okay with what happened?" Trip clarified hopefully.

"I've been waiting for it long enough!" Malcolm retorted, the words muffled by a faintly hysterical laugh. "It was bloody magnificent from where I was, but - well, you've never been with a man before, and then I went and used your blasted title... I'm a dickhead sometimes, and I'm sorry."

"Aw, Malcolm!" Strong arms shot out, crushing the breath from him while dragging an unresisting Reed into his lover's lap. "I should be used t' you bein' so damn formal by now, but I thought... Hell, I thought maybe it wasn't good for you - that me being kind of like a virgin again maybe I'd disappointed you."

Insecurity. Malcolm had experienced it often enough to spot it a dozen light years away. Gently he lifted a hand to trace the strong line of his lover's jaw. "I wasn't exactly coherent at the time but I promise you, Trip, the last thing I was feeling was disappointment," he murmured, something in his chest going ping at the joy that chased through the Southerner's eyes. "In fact, I was wondering... would you be interested in doing it again sometime? We might manage to make it a bit more romantic, if you'd prefer..."

"Anythin' you want, Mister Reed." Amazed by his own daring, Trip leaned in to seal the words with a breathtaking kiss that had delectable repercussions around the nether regions. "I'm guessing there's a whole lot more for me to learn about bein' with another guy, if you've got time to teach me."

"All the time in the universe, love." Already toying with the top button of his boyfriend's ghastly yellow and orange patterned shirt Reed managed a coy peek up beneath downcast sable lashes. "And I can feel a lesson coming on now, if you're up for it."

 _All the time in the universe_. Momentarily transported back to the cockpit of a future ship, Trip let himself shift until the hardness blooming between his legs could nudge into Reed's gut. "Oh, I think I'm _up_ all right," he growled, startled up two octaves when a twist of English hips increased pressure in just the right spot. Giddily he let himself be pushed backward, Reed rearing above him with an expression at once feral and tender gracing his angular features. 

That ship had come from the 31st century. Succumbing to the deft touch of his future spouse, Trip figured around nine hundred years of loving this man would suit him just about perfectly.


End file.
